Nightmare
by Pensulliwen
Summary: Lenalee Lee does not dream. She has nightmares. They encompass her fears for her world, herself, the future— and they never end. Most of these were written for an RP, but they make sense out of context.
1. Noah

**Nightmare**

**By Allegra**

Lenalee stood on the water. She had done that often enough not to question the physics of it, but somehow this felt different; as if she was really _standing_ on a solid surface. Her attention was captured by the gigantic crescent moon that seemed to hover just in front of her, as if she could reach out and touch it. Tearing her eyes away from it, Lenalee glanced from side to side. There was no land in sight, and no sound. Nothing moved, not even the water. Lenalee shifted her weight from one leg to another and froze as something brushed against the back of her thigh. Glancing back, she realized two things at once: one, she was unclothed, and two, her hair was long again. Lenalee took a moment to marvel at that, before glancing down at her feet. No boots. No crystal anklets or even cross shaped scars. She was truly naked.

Lenalee took a hesitant step forward, and then another. The water rippled beneath her, but held her. She continued walking, but the moon got no closer and there was nothing else. What was bellow? She looked down. Darkness. But— no, there was something. It looked like a corpse. Curiosity wining out over a natural sense of foreboding, Lenalee leaned down, getting on her hands and knees and peering into the depths. She screamed. A boy floated just beneath the surface, dressed in a vest and long-sleeved shirt. White hair fanned out around his face so that his pentagram-shaped scar was clearly visible. His eyes were closed. Unthinkingly, Lenalee tried to reach out to him, pressing her hands through the water. It felt like a hard gel; Lenalee pushed harder, and managed to bury her arms up to her elbows in the substance. He wasn't that far down, was he? She struggled to reach farther.

"Allen," she called, voice coming out as nothing more than a whisper.

The boy's eyes snapped open and locked with hers. Lenalee gaped, about to shout his name when his hand closed around her wrist and pulled her under. Suddenly the water was like air as she plunged through it, and it should have been cold but it wasn't. Lenalee held her breath, looking down at him desperately. The boy smiled at her, in a way that was so very unlike Allen. He continued to drag her deeper, placing his other hand on her hip and pulling her closer, reminding Lenalee of the fact that she was very, very naked. She squirmed uncomfortably in his grasp, but he ignored her, pinning them together. Lenalee gasped at the contact, and breathed the water in, then out again. Blinking, she repeated the action. She tried to speak, but no sound came out. The white-haired boy who was not quite the boy she had come to recognize looked smug. They were still sinking.

Lenalee renewed her efforts to reach the surface, wrapping her arms around him as she kicked, propelling them up. Something moved between them, and his hand was at her throat, tilting her head to look at him. He met her gaze with a furious expression that warped the boy-ish face beyond recognition as his eyes took on a gold-ish tint. Lenalee stopped kicking, staring in horror as his skin grayed and white hair turned to black. He leaned forward, and Lenalee absurdly thought that he was going to kiss her, before he buried his teeth in her shoulder. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as blood swirled around the bite, coloring the water. Her hands clenched around the fabric of his shirt, and her body burned as if he had set her on fire (a small voice in the back of her head objected to that; they were underwater, weren't they?). They were sinking again. The world grew darker and there was only her hands ripping the fabric of his shirt, and his teeth in her shoulder.

* * *

_Lenalee woke up with a start, heart pounding. She stared at the ceiling, just breathing for a few minutes as details of the dream trickled out of her memory. She ran through it in her mind, trying not to forget it completely, and it took her a while to realize that she had just had a new dream. How long had it been? Over a year, certainly; ever since she'd first had that dream of the apocalypse, she had had it nearly every night. Not once had she had a different dream. The significance of the dream overshadowed its actual contents, and Lenalee found herself struggling to remember most of it. Her hand ran over her unmarred shoulder. That she remembered. As far as dreams went, it didn't seem much better than her usual nightmare._

* * *

AN: Illustration: Allegra-the-neko(dot)deviantart(dot)com/gallery/#/d2pwaq4


	2. The Usual

**Nightmare**

**Dream Two: The Usual**

Silence.

At first, that was all that she was aware of. Silence, and an acute awareness of the fact that is should not _be_ silent.

Lenalee was sitting on something hard, knees drawn into her chest. She shifted; it was mildly uncomfortable. Realizing that her eyes were closed, she opened them, and took in the red world around her.

It was a familiar scene. Sitting atop the dilapidated remains of ancient ruins, staring out at endless dark water with a stark, black crescent moon hanging behind her against a curiously red sky. She couldn't see it, but this world was familiar. She had been here enough times to know that it was there.

Lenalee stood, hesitating slightly before glancing around, a strong sense of foreboding filling her. There were things ahead that she didn't want to see, but at the same time she knew that the sooner she saw them, the sooner she could get out. It was tempting to keep sitting anyway, in only minor discomfort, and put off the horrors that lay ahead indefinitely. But she couldn't. There were things that she had to do, though Lenalee was not sure what they were. Only that she could not remain here. So she looked.

Abruptly the ruins were no longer the remnants of some long-dead ancient civilization, but pieces of her home. The once solid stone of the Black Order was strewn about the water in too many pieces to count. She was reminded of something, impenetrable walls crumbling before and around her. Lenalee squeezed her eyes shut against it, and when she opened them she was no longer on the ruins, but surrounded by them, standing on the discomfortingly black water.

Somehow, as apprehension bubbled up through her chest, Lenalee knew that whatever came next was worse. Worse than the destruction of what had been her home for as long as she could remember. She took one step forward, and then another. There was something floating in the water. Another step. She didn't want to see it, but a force made her continue forward; an invisible hand or simply morbid curiosity, she did not know.

She was close enough to make out the unmistakable lines of an Exorcist uniform now. The hood was drawn up, obscuring the wearer's face, but his arm was impossible not to recognize. The skin was a deeper shade of red than the sky, with ridges sprawling out from a glowing green cross set in the back of the hand.

Lenalee realized that she was crying, though she wasn't sure if it had started with the ruins of the Order or the boy before her. Impossibly, her feet were still moving, rebelling against her mind that begged not to have to see it. She wanted to scream, but couldn't; nothing could break the silence here. Her legs continued forward until she was practically on top of what could only be a corpse, close enough to make out wisps of white bangs peeking out from his hood even through her blurring vision. The tears fell, sending small ripples through the water over his chest, and now she could see the curve of his jaw line and the scar over his left eye.

Now she did scream.

* * *

_Lenalee rolled onto her side, opening her eyes slowly. Her heart beat was already beginning to return to normal by the time she was fully conscious, eyes dry. Ah, there it was. That dream. There was nothing comforting in the familiar nightmare, but it felt routine. It somehow brought a sense of normalcy to her life that she had not experienced in a long while. This she could deal with. This she could push to the back of her mind and above all else _not_ think about why it was always Allen._


	3. Wrong

**Nightmare**

**Dream Three: Wrong**

_AN: This one requires a little context; it happens following an incident with Allen that essentially made Lenalee realize that she has lady bits. It freaked her out a _little_. If you don't recognize a character's description, they're probably not from DGM; it's a panfandom RP._

_Also, like... everyone in the RP except Allen and Lenalee are gay. Just for the record. You will understand why that matters in a minute._

* * *

It's odd.

She's sitting in a tall chair, in a dark room lit by floating candles. They look sharp, but it doesn't bother her, somehow. At least they're bright.

Something tugs at the side of her head, and Lenalee tries to glance that way to see what it is, but finds herself immobile. She can't even move her eyes; they're stuck staring straight ahead. The tugging at her hair continues, but it is not painful. It's as if someone is playing with it.

"You're such a Pretty girl," a voice coos from where the tugging is. A person beside her shifts so that black spikes of hair are briefly within her line of vision, but then it's gone again. The voice sounds female and childish. What an odd haircut for a young girl to have.

But no, that isn't right. She is not a Pretty girl. She is…

"An Exorcist is a rare doll."

Exorcist. That's right.

There's something on her legs; it feels too heavy, like a comforter. Or maybe just a long dress, but that's not what she's wearing, is she? Her outfit is supposed to have a collar, but then there's something soft but firm scraping along her neck and she feels very, very vulnerable without it.

"What a waste of a Pretty girl."

She's not…

The soft thing travels down to ghost across her chest, and she would have shuddered but nothing is moving. A gray hand flashes in front of her face (and she should have blinked) before the girl moves away. There is a light tap of footsteps behind her. Lenalee's heart races, apparently the only thing that's still moving. There is a slight pressure on either side of her shoulders, and something nuzzles against her left ear. A puff of breath against the side of her face. A mouth, then.

"Aren't you going to be a good Pretty girl?"

Not…

The room changes. No, the room is the same, but it's bright. The candles are gone and in their place is… everyone. People she barely recognizes from the picnic, but they're all arranged strangely. No one is standing alone; they all have their arms wrapped around someone's neck, or torso. And they are all looking at her.

She wants very much to move.

One of the few familiar faces is in front of her. A thin boy with dark curly hair, currently entangled with a pink haired man. He smiles at her, almost sympathetically.

"You're doing It wrong."

He tilts his head up, and the pink haired man tilts his head down and they meet halfway. And somehow the absurdity of two boys kissing is the last thing on her mind.

It…?

Everyone is moving now. They are kissing, and touching, and doing other things that she can't quite see; everyone is… blurry? They are there but not there, and she can't see it or understand it but she knows it.

_You're doing It wrong._

Other faces start to appear with greater clarity. A man with black hair tied back in a high ponytail, a redhead with an eye patch, a man with curled hair peeking out from beneath a cap and glasses. Frowning. Looking at her.

_You're doing It Wrong._

Someone is missing.

The moving shapes are making her feel queasy, but she can't throw up because she can't open her mouth and suffocating on her own vomit is really not the way she wants to die—

"You'd ruin a very nice dress," the voice from before points out logically.

And someone is missing. She doesn't want him here, but the absence is chilling. Where is he?

_Doing It Wrong._

She needs to move. Anything, even blinking would do. So they can know she's in here.

_It Wrong._

Then they won't just stare. She has to get up, away from the writhing bodies and the staring comrades and the childish voice. Away from what's missing.

_It._

* * *

_[Lenalee wakes up shaking. She stares up at the ceiling because there is nothing else to do; she certainly can't think about what that was. It seems like forever before she drifts back to sleep.]_


	4. It's Always Home

**Nightmare**

**Dream Four: It's Always Home**

The smell of burning rice filled her senses. It was acrid and unpleasant, but familiar. Lenalee opened her eyes to find herself in a too-small bed that she hadn't seen in many years. The walls weren't as big as she remembered, but it was certainly her room. And that smell could only be Brother attempting to cook.

Relief washed over her. It had all been a dream. They were still together in China. She stood up, and straightened the folds out of her Exorcist uniform before approaching the kitchen.

The kitchen was a simple room lined with a counter. It looked like… yes, she remembered baking a cake here a little while ago. (With…?) Smoke wafted through the open door, and she quietly stepped in to observe the chef. He had his back turned to her, long hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Somehow noticing her approach, the man turned to smile sheepishly at her.

Oh… he was so young looking. The war had made both of them grow too fast.

(But why would there be war?)

Still, it was definitely Brother. She found herself grinning, tugging nervously at a lock of her too-short hair. Would he be disappointed?

"Breakfast time~" he all but sang, pushing a bowl of charred rice in front of her. A guilty cough. "I, ah, tried..."

"It's fine," Lenalee replied automatically, taking a seat. "I'm sure you're getting better."

"I am! Perhaps one day I'll be a gourmet chef, and cook you whatever you want whenever you want it!"

"I'm not sure that's how it works."

"Ah, I'm sure it is."

"Tch." Lenalee glanced to her right, suddenly taking notice of the Japanese teen sitting next to her. He was scowling at his bowl of rice, shoving the locks of black hair falling in his face behind his ear. He was younger too, maybe fifteen. "You expect me to eat this shit?"

"You need a haircut," Lenalee mused aloud. She opened and closed the scissors in her hand, making a soft "snickt-snickt" sound. The boy's glare was turned towards her.

"I can do it myself."

"But it always looks jagged when you do it."

"Who the hell asked you?"

"I want to." She said it with an air of finality, moving to stand behind him.

"You think I care?" he demanded, but he hadn't once moved to stop her.

"Mhm." She gathered his hair up between her hands, running her fingers through it. Corse. "I told you to stop washing your hair with bar soap," she chastised, flicking his ear. His only response was a twitch at the touch, followed by an annoyed 'hmph' and attempt to swat at her hand. She flicked his ear again.

"I don't know why you bother, he's still going to look like a chick anyway." A glance to her left revealed a grinning redhead with an eye-patch, a little older looking than the other boy. The hair jerked out of Lenalee's hands as the teen in front of her turned to growl at the new arrival, hand falling to the hilt of his sword.

"Be nice," she reprimanded with a quick tug at his hair, re-gathering it.

"Mind your own damn business," he snarled at the redhead, who merely twiddled his fingers in a mocking wave.

"But you're so pretty, Yu~"

"Kan—" Lenalee didn't react fast enough to keep him from lunging from his chair. The other boy ducked away from him, reappearing behind Lenalee.

"Lenalee, he's always so mean," he complained, taking hold of her shoulders and using her as something of a human shield.

"Fucking coward," the black-haired boy accused scathingly, sword drawn.

"I call it survival."

"I am going to harm you both if you don't quit it," Lenalee threatened, shifting around the pointed sword to grab its wielder by the forearm and the redhead by the ear. "Really, you—"

Then she was holding air.

Lenalee glanced to either side. No one, and nothing but white space. "Guys?" But… they had just been here, hadn't they? "Brother?"

Where did everything go?

She took a step forward, and the background seemed to shift. Still white, but different somehow. She was enveloped by a cloud of fluffy white feathers, comfortable and soft. They led her along some invisible path, and she walked with them on the now spongy ground.

(And why would there be anything?)

"Lena…" She froze, looking back. There was no one there, only the white on white surroundings. "…lee…" It wasn't scary, per say. More disconcerting than anything. There was a vague familiarity to the voice, but also an unfamiliar distortion. It felt right to answer anyway.

"Yes?" The feathers stopped tugging, continuing to swirl around her for an indeterminable amount of time. When they settled, she saw the back of a figure in front of her, also cloaked in white.

"Why… here?" he asked without turning to her. Lenalee approached him without hesitation; the white hair left little question as to his identity. A piano melted into existence before him as she got closer— the keys seemed to be moving without him even touching them, but she heard no music. Lenalee kept walking until she was only a step behind him, but still he remained hunched over the silent piano.

"Allen," she said, because it couldn't be a question. The figure shifted, startled. As if he hadn't known that she was there.

Slowly, he turned. Lenalee wasn't sure what she had expected (and she couldn't feel scared, because it _was_ Allen), but he looked the same as he always had. His eyes were glassy, but gray. His expression was confused, but… slowly it shifted into a smile that was beautiful and almost hard to look at, making something in her chest tighten in a dizzying way.

He offered her his hand, and unthinkingly, she took it.

Then there was music, swelling and almost frightening in its intensity. The floor began to fall away, revealing jagged black puzzle pieces that led to nothingness. But, holding his hand, she floated. There was no falling.

"You should go back." He said it somberly, bright expression replaced with that not-smile that always made her scowl.

"You come too," she insisted. The boy moved to reclaim his hand, but Lenalee did not let go, so he didn't either.

"I can't." The tone was somewhat apologetic, but mostly weary. Lenalee's expression didn't change, still a mask of determination. He would have to do better than that.

"Why not?"

"There's still work to do." He pulled his arm back, bringing her floating form closer. "I'll come later, you go on."

Lenalee shook her head, feet touching down near him. "I'll wait here then."

He frowned. "There are people waiting for you."

"They're waiting for you too." The answer was immediate. Couldn't he see that?

The white-haired boy glanced away, looking hesitant. "It could take a long time."

Lenalee sat down, settling into a cross-legged position.

"Then you shouldn't wait it alone."

* * *

_[For the first time in a long time, Lenalee woke up smiling.]_

_[Oh, there were troubling things about it. But it was still the most pleasant dream she could remember having since she was very little, dreaming of home.]_


	5. Kittens

**Nightmare**

**Dream Five: Kittens**

The room was bright.

So much so that it might have hurt to open her eyes, but she had intention of doing so, nestled comfortably against the grass and pleasantly warm as she was. She might have thought she was outside, if not for the lovely fishy smell coming from the kitchen. The black cat lay curled on her side, left ear twitching every so often as she enjoyed a nap in the sun.

"Are you hungry?" a familiar voice called. She mewled her response, forgetting the light and opening her eyes. Despite the brightness of the outside-yet-inside room, she could see everything clearly. A Chinese man in his early twenties was standing by the door, long hair pulled back in a low ponytail. "How does salmon sound?"

"Mreow!"

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, returning to the kitchen. "I'll be just a minute, then."

Lenalee rolled onto all fours, lazily arching back and then forward to stretch herself out.

"Did you have a good nap?" Lenalee perked immediately, turning to face the voice. Two boys were sitting cross-legged on the grass; the white-haired one was closest, smiling at her, while the black-haired one sat farther off, staring at the ground as if he were mildly annoyed with it. She trotted over to the white-haired boy first, rubbing her side against his knee and mewing for attention. A gloved hand came down to scratch behind her ears, and her whole body seemed to vibrate with the force of her purring.

"Che." She glanced up at the noise, distracted. The other boy was looking away from them, glaring at nothing in particular. Always so grumpy. Pulling away from the hand, she walked over to place her front paws on his knee. He glanced down at her, slightly annoyed, but she knew it wasn't at her. She took the opportunity to jump into his lap, turning around once before settling with her chin resting on his leg so that she was still facing the other boy. He tensed beneath her, but after a pause he sighed and scratched her neck. Her purring resumed.

"What are you doing to my sweet Lenalee?" Sigh. Brother. Ah, did that mean the food was ready?

"She jumped on me," the black-haired boy grumbled as she stood up, dashing over to meet the salmon-bearer half way. Was the white-haired boy smirking?

"I—"

Silence.

The brightness was gone, and for a moment she couldn't see anything. It was complete and utter darkness. Lenalee stood up, human, and why wouldn't she be? The sleeveless black dress chafed uncomfortably against her legs when she took a step forward. And there was nothing but her and the dress.

"Hello?" The sound was small, and immediately swallowed by the darkness. It seemed like eternity before an equally small sound responded. It sounded like… a mewl? More cats?

But why would it be more cats?

Not knowing which direction it had come from, she walked forward. It felt like sandpaper was rubbing against her legs, somehow inside and out, but she kept walking until they were raw and dripping. She could feel blood smearing between her thighs, making thin trails down her calves, but she couldn't stop walking. Not in the Nothing. Finally there was a spot against the black— impossibly bright and purple. She stopped, and the thing approached her. A kitten, with almost glowing purple fur. She watched it silently, remaining still until it was just in front of her ruined legs. It sniffed at them for a moment, before lapping up a droplet of blood on her ankle and starting at the trail it left behind.

"No, no," she cooed softly, crouching down to pick it (him) up. "That's not good to drink." The kitten's claws dug into her arm, sharp but small and harmless. She cradled him gently, straightening back up. When she looked forward, the white-haired boy was standing before her. His uniform was gone, replaced by a vest, dress shirt and slacks.

"Ah, Allen!" she took a step forward, but the momentum quickly died. There was something… off. It was him, certainly, but had his eyes been that sunken before? His attention was on the kitten, staring at it with an expression that Lenalee couldn't even begin to describe. Slowly, she took another step forward. "Alle—" she cut off when he moved, looking at her as he brought a hand to cover his throat. She remained still, watching as he left it there for a few seconds before moving the hand towards her, covering her mouth.

_Can't speak…_

She was frozen now, eyes wide and watching him as he took a step closer. Too close, the kitten was caught between their chests and they were going to crush him—

With a yowl, the purple furred creature leapt away from them, leaving scratch marks by her collarbone and brushing by Allen's neck— had the string tie always been so big? Her eyes followed the kitten, arms automatically lowering as the slight weight left her. Then he was gone, in the darkness. Her attention returned to the boy in front of her, his hand still clamped over her mouth.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the hand moved down. When it finally left her lips, Lenalee let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, only to suck in another. The hand closed around her throat; lightly, but with enough pressure for her to be consumed with its presence. Thoughtlessly, she tried to stop breathing so heavily, sure that he could feel it and the way that her heart was pumping. She couldn't put a name to why either was happening, but he was still too close— closer, now that the kitten was gone— and his hand was resting against her throat such that she could focus on nothing else.

He was still again, simply looking at her. Lenalee stared back, lost. What was she supposed to…?

Time seemed to drag on and on. It was immediately clear that he was not going to move again, that he was waiting for her. But Lenalee couldn't move either, didn't know how to move. Would they stay like this forever?

That wouldn't do. There were things, and people… she couldn't remember them all in this darkness, but there had to be other things. Hand shaking, she reached up to mirror his gesture, resting her hand against his throat. His expression changed from the blank slate it had been, but it wasn't a smile. She started to ask, but couldn't. It was absolute silence, she couldn't break that.

His eyes were urging her on. Fumbling, Lenalee pulled at his too-big tie, so thick that it looked more like a piece of ribbon, struggling to loosen it with one hand. Finally, it fell, revealing a red line cut neatly across his neck.

Then his head fell.


	6. If Wishes Were Terrors

**Nightmare**

**Dream 6: If Wishes Were Terrors**

Lenalee lay on her side, facing the wall with her back to the door. A minute ago she had been on her back, another minute and she would probably revert to that position. Not that it mattered. Some nights sleep just didn't come to her. This was clearly going to be one of them. Her head was a mass of pain, tired from crying and a very long day, but she felt restless. A feeling of discomfort seemed to saturate the entire room, nothing was right.

Hearing muffled footsteps, she rolled over to face the door. For an absurd moment, she expected it to be Komui. He had never come to her room in the night before, not since she was very little, but with Allen… it was no secret that she hadn't been taking it well. But for the most part, people had left her alone. And that was good, because she had nothing to offer them. So why would he—?

The door slid open and a figure stepped in, but the whole room was out of focus and it was too blurry to see. It wasn't Komui; too small for that, and though everything was still sliding into place she _knew_ that it was—

"Allen…" She smiled, could do nothing but smile for a moment. Because there he was, smiling at her as he settled down on his knees next to her bed. Dressed in his immaculate uniform without a scratch on him. Her hands settled behind his neck, hungry for contact but cautious, as if she expected him to disappear the moment they touched. But he was real and solid beneath her hands, and then all caution was gone. Her hands were instantly knotted in his hair, reveling in the soft feeling. He leaned in, and she lost no time in pressing her lips against his (there, real). It was like he never left. His breath caught, and she pushed in closer. Their lips seemed to move against each other for an impossibly long amount of time, and when she finally drew back it wasn't to catch her breath.

She leaned in to whisper against the shell of his ear. "I missed you." There was a puff of air against her shoulder as he exhaled, before his lips were placed against her neck in a firm, yet somehow chaste kiss.

"I'm sorry." The words vibrated against her skin, making her shift in response. It wasn't comfortable or uncomfortable, but it was strange and wonderfully close. She tugged lightly at his hair, urging him up, and her hands moved to cup either side of his face.

"It wasn't your fault," she assured him, brushing her thumb against his cheek. None of that mattered now, anyway, as long as he was here. He had said that he wouldn't leave her. As long as he was here now…

His smile was dimming. Starting to look sad. Her expression mirrored his, confused. Wasn't he happy to be back?

"I'm sorry." His voice didn't sound right. It came out wooden, and now even the sadness was leaving his face to be replaced by nothing. She was going to ask what was wrong, but then he broke apart. There was a snap, and then little bits of him began to fall, crumbling into ash against the floor until all she was left with was his head.

Of course, because… people didn't come back to life. Not really. Only monsters in their guise.

She knew that.

She was still holding his head inches away from her face, and while part of her was saying that she should just let it drop, her hands were clamped around it too tightly for that. She couldn't let it go. It would crumble. And his eyes were still open, angled towards the ground and unfocused but there was no blood, and she couldn't let him crumble completely.

She just barely noticed that the room was changing. Fading into something else. But her bed remained the same, and she let herself fall back on her side, cradling his head to her chest.

"Why are you always breaking?" Her hand traveled through his hair before she hugged the head closer and curled around it, squeezing her eyes shut against the shifting room. He had been right there, this time. It wasn't a grainy video after the fact. He was in her arms.

And she still couldn't save him.

He still crumbled away, and left her with a memory she couldn't shake. A head to cling to. And she knew that as long as she lived, she would never be able to let go of it.


	7. That Feeling

**Nightmare**

**Dream Seven: That Feeling**

The hot water felt soothing. It always did, really.

Lenalee was used to the hot springs at the Order, and usually preferred them. She could happily spend far too much time relaxing against the hot rocks there, breathing in the steam or sometimes chatting with Miranda, if they happened to be off missions at the same time. But showers were nice too, hot water beating all of the knots out of her back. They reminded her of the ship on its way to Edo; the good parts. Hands far softer than her own brushing out her hair, offering words to help her believe that people could still be out there somewhere, even if they were out of sight.

Showers were nice.

Lenalee lifted her arms to run her hands through her hair— short, so much more manageable now, but not the same. It had always been a hassle brushing it out after missions, but she would grow it out again anyway. She owed both of them that much.

Two arms suddenly wrapped around her ribs, just under her breasts, pulling her from her thoughts. One warm and fleshy, the other course and cool. She smiled as a nose and then lips brushed against her neck, tilting her head to better expose it.

"Allen," she breathed, relaxing against him. The light suction against her neck was his confirmation. She arched her back against him. Everything below her chest felt warm, in a not-quite-solid way; nondescript, but nice. Her mind wandered as soon as she had thought of it and she turned to face him, lips immediately meeting his. She felt him smile against her as his arms dropped to curl loosely around her waist. Lenalee hummed contentedly as his lips made their way down, trailing across her jaw and back to her neck again. She turned her head, and immediately froze.

The curtain was pulled aside, revealing That Man standing ramrod straight against the wall, watching them. Suit perfectly pressed, face wrinkled a bit with age but severe and frowning in disapproval; _always _disapproving. A thrill of fear ran through her at the sight of him, as it always did— her hands clenched against the back of the boy still teasing her neck.

"Allen," she gasped, caught between pulling away and clinging to him harder. "He's _watching_."

"Who?" the white-haired boy mumbled against her. Lenalee scarcely noticed his words or ministrations, unable to tear her eyes away from the stern man on the other side of the room. Who was, likewise, still staring at them.

"Lenalee," he said at length, voice deep and displeased and above all _sinister_. "What do you think you're doing?"

She tugged helplessly at Allen's hair, feeling too bare and trying to make him stop; didn't he feel the wrongness of this?

"Do you think that this behavior will be tolerated, Lenalee?"

No, it wasn't that, but—

"You'll have to come home eventually, you have work to do."

Yes, of course, she wanted that. She did. This was—

"Do you think that he will allow this?"

He—? Her head jerked to the other corner of the room. A man with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and straight bangs stood across from the first spectator; younger, but equally rigid. Oddly unflustered by her situation, but equally disapproving of it.

"He is under my supervision, Miss Lenalee."

She buried her face against Allen's shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. No. She didn't want him to go back to that.

"Are you alright?" the lips against her asked. Lenalee shook her head, pulling him with her as she took a small step back and let the sound of rushing water fill her ears. It was all wrong now, but he didn't seem to see it. So she clung to him anyway.

"You can't hide from this, Lenalee."

Yes she could. None of them had any place here. If there was one good thing about this world, it was that. Her mind blurred for a moment as the mouth started working against her again, teeth teasing her skin. She couldn't find the words to tell him to stop, and wasn't sure that she even wanted him to despite everything.

It was quiet now. Cautiously, Lenalee raised her head— nothing. She glanced to her side— both men were gone. Maybe…

She gasped as lips suddenly made their way down her chest, and leaned back to rest her shoulders against the cool tiles of the shower. The temperature made her jolt, but she tried to relax into the touches, despite the words still swirling in her head. It was hard not to remain tense, after seeing That Man here. She glanced to her side again, a little paranoid, and choked. It was somehow even worse to see a Japanese teen with his black hair in a high ponytail glaring at her, and she could have taken his glowering but the look of utter disgust on his face was too much.

Please,_ please_ don't look at her like that. It- it wasn't like that. She looked at him more fully, pleadingly; begging to let her explain. It wasn't- she_ loved_ him.

"You think that makes it okay?" Lenalee flinched at the new voice, glancing around frantically. Now a red-haired boy with an eye patch was watching her, expression far too solemn. Pitying. Lenalee gripped the shoulders against her harder— too hard, pressing bruises into his skin, but he didn't seem to notice. No, they couldn't see her like this.

"I see everything," the redhead reminded her, pointing across the room. "And so will he."

No, _no_, he can't—

Unwillingly, her eyes followed the line of his finger. And there he was. And she didn't _care_ if she disappointed That Man, for as much as she feared him, but disappointing this man was—

It was worse than dying.

"Brother, I—" she started, but what could she possibly say? She would have said anything, to wipe that hurt expression from his face, done anything not to disappoint him like this. Her eyes prickled, and she was still clinging to the scarred boy and he was still working his tongue against her breast, and they were _all watching_.

"Are we going to have to teach you again, Lenalee?" That Voice asked.

No, she wasn't going back to that. Not ever. She, they both had to run. "Allen, we have to—"

"He is not going to stay with you, Lenalee." Calm, practical, as if explaining the way things are to a small child. She held the boy in her arms tighter. But the porcelain wall behind her was gone, and despite her hands scrabbling to hold onto his back there was a dizzying jolt, and she was falling.

"No—" She was cut off by black tendrils wrapping around her mouth, gagging her. More came as soon as they had tightened, wrapping around her entire body like cloth, and she kicked and squirmed but they still came until she was completely covered with her arms stretched out to either side, as if tied to something she couldn't see. She landed on her back with a soft creak, mattress giving a little under her weight. With nothing more than a quick glance, she recognized the room. Her breathing was quick and shallow, approaching hyperventilating. A hospital bed. _That _hospital bed, with _That Man_ standing over her, a small tube and long needle in hand and_ no_, she couldn't do this again. She was past this. He was just a man, not the demon she had made him out to be as a child; only a man. She was stronger than him.

But she was still breathing too fast and struggling against her restraints. The sight of his expression, stern and unapologetic, still sent a thrill of fear through her chest. One of the black tendrils was suddenly painfully tight around her upper arm. His eyes finally left the needle then, and a whole new wave of panic washed over her as he bent over. A finger pulled the skin at her inner elbow taut, and she tried for all she was worth to pull away but the appendage didn't even budge.

There was a prick. Slightly painful, but mostly alarming, because she knew what came next.

"You still can't escape this place. It's your home, Lenalee." Something stuck to her arm, making the needle twinge, and she recognized that unmistakable smell before she felt another jostle indicating the tube's connection. She imagined that she could feel the sedative seeping into her vein.

"You keep disappointing us, Lenalee."

No… She wanted to speak, wanted to struggle, but already her eyelids were drooping and it felt as if her mind was filled with cotton. She was…

Everything was white— she could just barely hear him.

"You will have to learn to behave."


End file.
